The caravan finally rolled into Sharptown, the last stop before reaching the capital. Sharptown wasn't quite a city, but it was far from a simple village. Its narrow streets were lined with wooden houses, shops, and market stalls, all bustling with activity. The town had a sense of controlled chaos to it, with merchants haggling over prices and carts laden with goods rattling over the cobblestone roads. The distant scent of freshly baked bread and the sharp tang of iron from the blacksmith's forge filled the air.

I stepped off the wagon and was quickly greeted by Leonard, who, as usual, seemed eager to please. "My lord, we will stop here in Sharptown for a couple of minutes. Of course, if you needed to—"

I cut him off, already bored of the formalities. "Don't worry, I don't have any plans here. We can leave as soon as you're ready."

The relief on Leonard's face was almost comical. "Sure thing, my lord," he said, giving a respectful bow before scurrying off to make preparations.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

I rushed to my wagon, shutting the door behind me, my heart pounding in my chest. My hands shook slightly as I pulled out the crystal communication orb from its hiding place. This wasn't some run-of-the-mill trinket; it was a high-level communication artifact, the kind only nobles and major merchants could afford. But thanks to my connections, I managed to get my hands on one. It had saved my skin plenty of times before, and I had a feeling it was about to do so again.

The orb flickered to life in my hands, casting an eerie glow as the image of a skinny, pale boy appeared. Black hair, black eyes—Wilfred Highcliff, or at least, that's who this guy claimed to be. But I'd never been fully convinced. Something about him had seemed off from the start. His mannerisms, the way he carried himself—it didn't add up. And with the kind of business I'm in, I've learned never to ignore my gut feeling.

I hadn't let my guard down since the moment he approached me. Sure, I gave him my personal wagon, but that wasn't out of respect—it was out of precaution. I had an artifact planted inside it, one that recorded everything. I needed to keep tabs on him, whether he was who he claimed to be or not. The whole thing stank, and I wasn't about to let myself get played.

Back in Norelana, while that guy was out gallivanting around the city, I took a snapshot from the recording and sent it to a contact of mine—an information merchant. The merchant promised to look into it, but I couldn't sit back and wait. So, I devised a little test.

I used Torsten, poor fool, to dig for some information.

First, I had him say this: 'My grandfather was a carpenter, and he always spoke highly of the wood that came from your lands.'

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

An obvious lie.

Torsten's so-called grandfather? The boy didn't even have a family. He was an orphan, a stray picked off the streets of the capital. And the part about Highcliff wood? Absolute nonsense. Highcliff lands were nothing more than frozen rock up in the north. Barely a tree in sight, let alone anything worth praising.

If this guy really was Wilfred Highcliff, he'd have known that instantly. He would have called Torsten out on his lie, maybe even threatened him—at worst, I'd have had to offer Torsten's head as an apology.

But that wasn't enough for me. I needed more. So, I had Torsten ask something that couldn't be ignored:

'What about your father, my lord? I heard Lord Highcliff had fallen ill lately.'

This was where the truth should have come out. Lord Highcliff wasn't just sick—he had *died* months ago. Not exactly common knowledge, but something an heir would know. At the very least, this guy should have corrected Torsten, or shown some anger at the ignorance. But what did he do instead?

He went right along with the lie. Agreed that his father was sick, didn't even flinch. No correction, no outrage.

'So, either this guy really likes playing along with lies, or he's a complete faker.'

And the latter option was becoming more and more likely with every passing moment.

Just as that thought crossed my mind, the orb in my hand glowed again. The information merchant's response had finally come in.

"I found some information about what you asked me," the merchant began, his voice as cool and detached as ever. "Wilfred Highcliff is in his land up north, and from the pictures we have of him, his face is completely different from what you sent

My heart stopped for a moment.

'I was right after all.'

"But i think we've figured out who you're traveling with. Based on our sources and the image you sent, this man is Nathaniel Blackwood, third in line to House Blackwood."

What?

Nathaniel Blackwood?

I expected some low-born imposter, maybe a rogue outlaw from another region trying to sneak around unnoticed. But Nathaniel Blackwood? That name carried weight—much more than Wilfred Highcliff ever could.

I sat back, trying to process what I'd just heard. The Blackwood House… a fallen noble family, downgraded after the academy slaughter.

And now, here I was, unknowingly harboring one of them—Nathaniel, a main family memeber of all people. 'What the hell is he doing here?'

It didn't make sense. The Blackwoods had all but vanished from the political scene after their house was disgraced, and they were barely holding onto their title. 'And yet here he is, pretending to be Wilfred Highcliff? Why?'

I'd been cautious this entire time, suspicious of the imposter in my wagon, but I hadn't expected this. Nathaniel Blackwood was no ordinary noble. He was a wildcard, for all bad reasons,

and not someone I wanted to be involved with.

'Damn it... what now?'

A noble posing as another noble, using a house's noble sign? It was the kind of scandal that could burn down entire families. Fake or not, a revelation like this could ruin reputations, wreck alliances, and in the worst cases, start wars. For most noble houses, big or small, the social and financial fallout would be devastating. And for a house like Blackwood, barely clinging to life, it would be the final nail in the coffin. They wouldn't just suffer—they'd be obliterated.

My heart pounded as I thought about the opportunity in front of me. If I played this right, I could be sitting on a mountain of gold. I had information that could topple a house, information that could be worth a fortune to the right person. And I knew just the person who'd pay handsomely for it: Count Merno.

Count Merno had been a rival of House Blackwood, even in its prime. Now that Blackwood was teetering on the edge, this could be the perfect weapon to finish them off for good. Merno's information network would eat this up, and I could practically hear the gold coins clinking into my hands. But it was risky. 'Very risky.'

One misstep, one slip of the tongue, and I could lose more than just my deal—I could lose my head. Nobles don't play games when it comes to political sabotage, and if the Blackwoods—no if anyone found out I was part of this... well, I wouldn't live to see the next sunrise.

But what's life without risk? No risk, no reward. 'I didn't get this far by playing it safe.'

As the caravan began moving again, I felt the weight of my decision pressing down on me, but I couldn't shake the thrill that came with it. I was sitting on a powder keg, and if I played my cards right, I could be the one to light the fuse and walk away with my pockets full.